


The Housekeeper

by CaptainCrozier



Series: Forged In Ice [3]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Dresses, Established Relationship, M/M, Praise Kink, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 18:22:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16728549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainCrozier/pseuds/CaptainCrozier
Summary: As the months tick by since rescue, Francis is feeling a little taken for granted and a little melancholy.  The house is a mess and the garden is driving him to distraction. He suggests a few new staff might take the burden of running the estate off of James and himself but James is rather reluctant to bring strangers to the manor. After a minor fallout James takes matters into his own hands to cheer up his grumpy lover and address the need for a Housekeeper.... but the results are rather surprising.James in a Dress. That's all you need to know.Forged in Ice series but stands alone





	The Housekeeper

**Author's Note:**

> Well here it is. My take on James in a Dress. I may have lost my mind here but I'm sticking it out there anyway and hope you enjoy. Some Feelings crept in there but behold there is also smut and cross dressing and various roleplay. 
> 
> *head in hands* what am I doing with my life??

James was in already in the kitchen by the time Francis trudged through the servants’ passages in a pair of heavy boots and worn brown trousers, an old linen shirt rolled to the elbows in readiness. He had not even shaved, no sense in preening with such a day’s dirty work ahead.

James looked up from the pot suspended above the fire.

‘Dear Lord, are you planning on hauling a boat today?’ he asked.

‘I’m planning, as you well now to start lifting the new potatoes and plant the crop for September,’ Francis grumbled, ‘You could help, you know.’ He sat at the table and plucked buttered toast from a pile. James poured some tea.

‘I will be occupied here,’ he countered, tipping his head towards the detritus by the sink. ‘Just get on with it, Francis, you’ve been putting it off for weeks.’

‘That is because it is the most enormous task for one man,’ he groused, ‘Why is everything here so large, can you not have a mere patch and not an acre, like every other respectable home?’

‘It is an estate, Francis, not a country cottage,’ James said prissily, ‘And believe me there is plenty I must attend to indoors, you are not alone in working hard. These pans do not wash themselves and as for the linen...’

‘Hmm well while you are at it the hearth rug in the drawing room needs beating, there’s a whole ships hull’s worth of coal dust on the thing.’

‘I suppose you wish me to scrub the privy too.’ James slumped into the opposite chair. Francis peered at him over a pile of unwashed crockery.

‘We need a housekeeper,’ Crozier said. ‘Not to mention a cook, and a maid, _and_ a gardener.’

‘Just get one of the men from the Orchard to help,’ James said.

‘They are occupied already.’

‘With what?’ James said surprised.

‘With the bloody Orchard!’

‘Oh…’ James gazed about the room with his teacup suspended in one hand delicately. Francis was amazed he could find one unsullied from which to drink, ‘Lord, well I suppose I must set to cleaning.’

‘We should hire staff,’ Francis pressed.

‘You have changed your tune, I thought you preferred a private existence, and all its… benefits?’ James smirked, a brazen twinkle in his gaze.

‘I do,’ Francis replied, refusing to rise to his flirtation, ‘But I also value cleanliness.’

James snorted. ‘You are worse than I, that pile of laundry by your side of your bed is proof.’

‘We need a washerwoman.’ He fixed James with an unflinching stare which would broach no further argument. For a moment the two of them were at war. Crozier arched one brow and the battle was his.

James sighed. ‘Very well, very well. I shall advertise.’ He raised an index finger, ‘Just a housekeeper mind, for starters.’

‘A single woman cannot manage a place of this size, James, be realistic, she will need staff.’

‘Oh, ye of little faith…’

 

 

Three days into the preparation of this year’s crops and Crozier’s whole frame was complaining. It was early May and though the air was clean and cool and pure at sunrise it was not long before Francis found himself half drenched with sweat, his shirt sticking to his back and smears of mud upon his trousers. The vegetable garden was a mighty swath of rich turned earth which stretched to the edges of the orchard in which their fine crop of tress now bloomed in full blossom.

 Francis leaned upon a spade and watched as three men attended them, young men, strong, laughing as they worked and showing not one modicum of discomfort at their toil. He rubbed his back and calculated how far he had yet to dig. Too far, he concluded, stooping to gather new potatoes into a basket. After a few handfuls he straightened again with a grimace. Christ, he had never had this trouble before, he had been raised in a village surrounded by farming land, he could dig as well as any, gather crops, he had spent every late summer of his childhood binding hay and now… he paused. Dear God, that had been over forty years ago.

He cast down the spade. It must be almost lunch.

James had been interviewing women in the Butler’s pantry all morning and it was here that Francis found him reading his notes with a pot of tea.

‘Well?’ Crozier demanded.

‘Three of them… so far,’ James replied.

‘And?’ he planted his dirt stained hands on his hips and scowled. James looked up at the impatient tone of his voice and a look of horror crossed his features.

‘Jesus look at the bloody state of you! My God,’ he leaned over the desk, ‘Don’t you even remove your boots man?’

‘I am going back out after lunch,’ Crozier said.

‘You are trampling dirt on the rug!’

‘It will hardly be noticed, James given no rugs have been beaten here in years! Now which woman have you employed?’

James sat back petulantly. ‘None of them.’

‘What?’

‘None were suitable.’

Francis swiped a hand across his sticky forehead, ‘For Christ’s sake James it’s a housekeeper not a position of Command, if she can organise the accounts and mend linen she will do!’

‘There is a lot more to it than that, I’ll have you know, I’ve have discovered there is a multitude of complexity to running this place and none of these women have the necessary skills…’

‘Are they housekeepers or not?’

James pursed his lips and looked at the top sheet of his notes. ‘The first was very young, more a maid than a housekeeper, seeking promotion to a new household, but she would not manage I am sure of it, with her inexperience.’

‘And the next?’

‘An older lady, in her fifties, sturdy, looks like she can cook a good meal.’

‘Fine, hire her.’

‘Francis, she would never manage the physical aspects of the home, she is far too… too…’

‘Old?’ Francis challenged with a hint of warning.

‘Wide,’ James said.

Francis glared at him, ‘For God’s sake! And the last?’

‘A wizened lady of sixty, very experienced, has worked in a number of fine households locally, she is seeking a place with few staff and fewer residents wherein to retire, but she has a fine grasp of accounts, good references…’

‘She sounds perfect!’

‘She’s terrifying, Francis, I couldn’t bear her creeping about at all hours like something out of a Penny Dreadful!’

‘Well then who, James?’

‘I am considering.’

‘Consider more quickly! My patience is wearing thin. We need this place ship shape and I will tolerate no more dallying.’

James stared at him, ‘What on earth is the matter with you, Francis? What is the hurry?’

Crozier exploded.

‘I am tired, James, I am tired, and I ache, and I am,’ he wiped his trousers down angrily and only succeeded in covering what clean cloth there was with more mud, ‘I am dirty and in need of a decent meal and a bath and all of this is becoming increasingly impossible due to the state of this household, and while you sit there debating with yourself on the virtues of potential housekeepers I have been breaking my back in the sun to put food upon our table…’

‘You are being a little dramatic, love.’

‘Do not accuse me of melodrama!’ Francis spat. ‘Retirement you said, _retirement,_ not forking an acre of mud in the blistering heat only to return of an evening and find the place strewn with unwashed cutlery and cobwebs!’

‘But…’

‘It was a novelty at first, James, the utter isolation of it all, but we have to live here, and I grow tired of having to do everything ourselves…’

It poured forth unbidden and even while he raged he could hear how unreasonable and ungrateful he must sound. James had given him a home, and in his soul he knew he wanted now for nothing not in terms of love or material property. He could not fathom why he resented this so, he had had suffered much worse and really was digging in a few vegetables such a trial, but by Christ he could not seem to bear it, he did not want the chore of it, the responsibility, he did not want any responsibility ever again. He wanted to hand the bloody lot over to others and never have to make a decision or work again in his life. He wanted to hide away, cocooned in James’ embrace and not once be forced from his bed. Be brought warm food and sit by a warmer fire and have someone heat his bath and dammit he wanted to be cared for. Cared for and pampered like a small child until everything within him was mended at last.

Ah, there it was. The tired ache in his back was not the only pain which must heal.

He stopped in his tirade as suddenly as he started and stood glaring at the rug. It was speckled in dirt. To his shock a tear fell from his face and landed amidst the mud.

There was a creak from the chair as James rose and came to him. A hand came to his shoulder.

‘Shh…’ James said soothingly.

Francis held one hand over his brow. ‘Christ, I’m sorry James, I don’t know where all that came from, you must think me an absolute cad. I’m just… God I don’t even know why I’m so tired…’

‘Well you have been digging all week.’

‘It’s not that… it’s…’ he did not know what it was, just that it settled over him heavy and dull, it leadened his limbs and sucked what little reserve he had built up since their return straight back out to sea.

James was pulling him close.

‘You will get mud on you,’ Crozier warned.

‘I do not care.’

He let himself lean against his shoulder.  ‘I’m sorry,’ Francis muttered.

‘I think I understand.’

‘I should go back,’ Francis said.

‘What?’

‘Outside.’

‘What about lunch?’

Francis pushed away slowly. He felt wretched, and undeserving and he could not bear to see the worry in James’ eyes for a moment longer. Good old fashioned physical work would help him to lift this melancholy, and if not, then at the very least the vegetables would be planted and they would continue to eat. He followed the tracks of his dirty boots back out to the garden.

 

 

He worked until sunset, in part to turn as much earth as possible, in part to avoid James. While their blissful honeymoon period had done much to raise his spirits the creeping chill of unwarranted melancholy was upon him once again and the man did not deserve to suffer his company when he had been only kind and giving for the entirety of Francis’ stay.  He dug and ruminated, pondering just how when they had not only survived, but joined in such a happy union, he could possibly be discontented. There was so little to truly disappoint him, and he could only conclude that he was selfish, and impossible, and that if he did not mend his ways and soon, James would become tired of him utterly and rightly so. What a miserable and bitter man he was. At dusk, and unable to really see, he planted the spade within the earth and traipsed back to the house.

James had cleaned the kitchen. Francis hated himself.

He supposed he would be upstairs, for the hall was not lit and the drawing room lay empty. Toeing off his boots for fear of further muddying the carpets Francis made his way up the curving steps, rehearsing his apologies once more, until at last he reached the door of their shared suite.

There was a tin bath by the fire and it steamed pleasantly into the air.

‘Ah, you timed that well,’ James called from the dressing room, ‘Leave those dirty clothes upon the chair and get in, I shall be with you presently.’

‘Christ, James you did not have to…’ Francis said feeling just awful. The amount of heating and lugging of water to fill the thing was ludicrous. James must have been at it for well over an hour, dragging buckets of hot water from the kitchen, and all after Crozier’s selfish tirade at lunch. He did not deserve such thoughtful treatment.

‘It is my job,’ James called.

‘It is not your job, Jesus man, you are not in my employ, you are my lover, and I have treated you abominably today, there was no need to…’

There was a rustle and James appeared at the door of the dressing room.

‘I beg your pardon sir, but I think that you will find that to prepare a bath for my master at the end of a long day’s toil is one of my principle duties.’ He bobbed a curtsey.

Francis gawked. James was wearing a housekeeper’s frock.

‘What in hell?’

The housekeeper grinned and let slip his character a moment. ‘Found it in the servants’ quarters,’ he said, ‘When I was cleaning it out for a potential new employee. I must say whoever ran this place before was a formidable woman,’ He glanced down at his feet where the dark skirts swayed a mere couple of inches from the ground, ‘She must have been rather tall.’

Francis’s mouth hung open. James obligingly twirled on the spot and finished with another deep bob.

The dress was of an old style, but in a rich and heavy charcoal coloured fabric, complete with bustle and stiff bodice, fastened high and finished with a cream ruffle at the neck. James had pinned it into place with an oval broach of amber, but it was the pinafore apron which truly drew Crozier’s eye. Rucked and scalloped along each edge, with two wide straps over the shoulders and cinched in at the waist with an enormous bow at the back, its tails dangled down the rear of the skirts. At the front it held two deep pockets and to one side the most enormous bunch of keys and accoutrements rested at his hip. James had brushed his hair through neatly and thought he had presumably not gone so far as to apply a curling tong its natural wave now framed his face quite becomingly.

Francis shook his head at the altogether disturbing but strangely enticing image.

‘What do you think?’ James asked playfully.

‘You remind me of…’ no he could not admit to such a thing, not with the strange heat now curling in his stomach.

‘Of…?’ James pushed.

‘My… um… nanny,’ Francis said very quietly.

James’ eyes widened. ‘Good Lord, Francis.’

Crozier blushed and looked away, ‘What on earth are you doing, James?’ he said while feeling oddly warm.

James opened his mouth as if to explain and then thought better of it and applied instead the mask of his performance.

‘Well, as it was pointed out today, you are the master of this household sir and should be treated accordingly,’ he glanced at the bath primly, ‘I have taken up my position and in hope of pleasing you I have worked my very fingers to the bone. You will have seen the kitchen I assume,’ his eyes twinkled.

‘Christ, James I never…’ was the anguished reply.

James rustled forward, ‘Peace, sir, are you not entitled to a little respite and care, after all that you have done?’

‘I’ve only dug a patch of land!’

‘That s not what I refer to,’ James said softly and eased the braces from Francis’ shoulders. ‘Now if you would allow me to tend to you…?’

Crozier glanced down at the hands upon his chest. The wrists were edged in tiny ruffles of dark satin at the extremities of the long and tightly tailored sleeves. James was wearing a ring with a large onyx stone upon his little finger and his palms were warm and dry as they brushed over Francis aching muscles, unbuttoning and easing the shirt from his shoulders.

‘Lord, aren’t you a mucky boy,’ James whispered, ‘What can we do about that?’

It was ridiculous, and yet it was oddly soothing. Crozier warred with himself a moment longer. His damn second was dressed like a bloody maid and peeling him out of his clothes. The moment should be utterly farcical, it _was_ farcical and yet as James slipped behind him and the soft material of his dress brushed Francis’ flank it felt not only tolerable but rather pleasant.

‘Let’s take these off, sir,’ two hands reached around his waist and undid his trousers. Long elegant pale fingers emerging from those feminine buttoned cuffs and sliding down within his linens.

‘Christ,’ he said as the heat in his belly moved lower.

‘I hope you will find me to be a good servant,’ James said at his neck, ‘I am most willing and capable, it would give me great pleasure to attend to your every need, no matter how trivial it may seem,’ he peeled the trousers from Francis’ hips, ‘Or of course, how large,’ he added.

Francis bit his lip against a laugh.

‘Damn you, James,’ he chortled.

James revolved around him again to grin at him widely. ‘You had better be appreciating this, Francis, I had to lace myself into a corset earlier and it bites.’

Francis choked, ‘A corset?’

‘A corset, it was all rather difficult, though I must say,’ he said smoothing the bodice o’er his stomach, ‘It is a rather pleasant sensation to be so constricted.’ Francis let his eyes travel down the plane of James’s abdomen, to the now pronounced curve of his hips beneath wide skirts. He pursed his lips.

‘Do I really remind you of your nanny?’ James asked curiously.

‘Um… yes.’

‘That’s not the effect I was going for,’ James commented.

‘Well she was a very attractive woman…’  James arched a brow, ‘very um…strong hands.’

‘I see,’ James drawled. Francis swallowed. ‘And were you a very naughty boy, in need of discipline, were those strong hands put to good use?’

Francis flushed again, it was answer enough for James. A wicked, wicked glint came to his eye.

‘Off with those linens, then, we must get you into that bath. Filthy child playing in mud all day, I shall have to scrub you clean!’

Dear God.

‘Well come along!’ James ordered.

‘I thought you were my ever-willing maid?’ Francis spluttered struggling to keep up with James’ role.

‘Maid, nanny, housekeeper, I am all things as I a currently the only employee. I must double too for governess and cook.’

‘Is there a dress for each of these?’

James’s lips twitched as he repressed his laughter in a vain attempt to remain in character. ‘There may be. There may be several closets of ladies finery about this place, none of which I will be showing you if you do not get into that bath straight away.’

Francis stripped off his linens and got in.

‘There’s a good boy,’ James cooed and knelt beside him. He nimbly undid his cuffs and rolled up the sleeves of the dress to reveal his finely muscled and very masculine arms beneath. The contrast was damnably alluring. Francis watched in fascination as he grabbed a nearby sponge and squeezed it in the water beside his leg.

‘Now, lean forward, lets get this grime off you,’ he ordered. Francis did as he was told and was briskly rubbed down, in very much the way he had been as a child, by the forceful swipes of the sponge. He giggled.

‘That isn’t very soothing, madam.’ He said.

‘It’s not supposed to be soothing, it’s suppose to get your clean, now cease your complaints young man and let me see to this terrible mess. You’ve been traipsing mud about all day, and I am in no mood to allow such further dirty behaviour.’ He stopped swiping and pushed Francis back in the tub again with a splash, applying his force now to his chest. ‘Do you know how long it takes to beat a carpet free of dirt? And there are so many! Lord my work here will never be done and now you add to it by muddying yourself like the disobedient little tyke that you are.’

Francis could actually feel tears in his eyes from the sheer strain of resisting his laughter. His chest shook as he was washed and he was unable to stifle the occasional snort.

‘Does something amuse you?’ James said, moving down to his legs, ‘Does a woman’s hard labour give you merriment?’

‘Oh, dear God James!’ the laughter burst forth and James’s face cracked into a grin. He slowed his movements, the sponge soft now against Francis skin.

‘There now,’ he said amiably, ‘That’s better.’

Francis watched him bent over the edge of the tub, his face warm from the steam and his hair frizzing slightly.

‘You daft bugger,’ he said lifting one hand from the water and touching his cheek, ‘The bloody lengths you have gone to tonight…’

‘All to make you smile, my darling,’ James said, washing soothingly under the back of one thigh.

Francis raised an eyebrow, ‘Just for that?’

‘What else could I possibly achieve?’ James said with creased eyes.

‘Well this would not be the first time you’ve found a reason to don a dress…’ Francis left the statement hanging.

‘I have a penchant for theatre,’ James said.

‘Hmm.’

Even o’er the heat of the bath Francis could see the blush on his cheeks. He waited. James chewed his lip.

‘You know,’ Francis said at last, easing back into the heat of the water, ‘If it is something you enjoy…’

James’s eyes flicked to him briefly then away. ‘I am, not like that…’ he said quietly, ‘I would not have you think that I, well that I harbour some kind of… of… I’m not a deviant.’

Francis peaceful contentment slithered. ‘Deviant James? I ne’er accused you of aught.’

‘Well it is hardly normal is it?’ James said a little defensively and his brows knit as he glanced down at his dress. ‘I should probably remove it anyway the joke is done.’

Francis slid his hand slowly over James’, perched atop the edge of the tub. ‘Stay,’ he said, ‘Keep it on, hmm? Its rather... pretty I think.’

James looked up at him through his lashes. ‘You’re merely being kind,’ he said. ‘Mollifying me with your words, this is not you, Francis, you do not find this… this travesty to be attractive in any way.’

He looked so utterly crestfallen and Crozier ached to see it. He also, to his surprise, ached quite thoroughly in other ways. Francis shifted in the bath, gave the slightest tip to his hips and James caught the movement and looked down. Crozier watched his face, the shock of his eyebrows.

‘Oh,’ James said, ‘Hello.’ He glanced back at Francis’ toothy grin. ‘Well if that’s the case?’

Francis twitched a brow.

‘Suppose we should get you out and dried then,’ James suggested.

James had heated the towels by the fire and bustled around him wrapping and rubbing until his skin tingled with the contact and all was dry. He stepped into the silk robe James held out and waited as his servant tied the fastenings about his waist. Francis sank upon the two seater and watched as James smoothed his skirts.

‘Come here,’ he said extending one hand. James looked at him in mock suspicion.

‘Sir?’

‘Come,’ he waved him forward.

‘Is there something you require?’

Francis rolled his eyes, ‘Yes there is something I require now stop being a tease and get over here.’

James clasped his hands before him neatly. ‘Why sir, what are you implying. I am a respectable woman.’

‘I will make you a good deal less respectable in a moment.’

James gasped and covered his mouth in a demonstration of shock. Francis laughed. ‘Get yourself upon my knee this instant, girl!’ he commanded with just an edge of the tone he had once used upon ships. James visibly trembled and a little twist of excitement hit Crozier’s gut.

‘Are you… do you always make such lewd requests of maids?’

‘Oh, you are a maid now?’

‘A maid… and a maiden.’

‘Untouched?’

‘Of course!’

‘Hmm,’ Francis let his hum growl forth lowly. ‘And such a pretty little thing too, how can you have so well protected your chastity from all those terrible boys?’

James looked off to the side and heaved his chest beneath the bodice. ‘I am a good girl, I will not be tempted.’

‘Not tempted at all?’ Francis slipped a little in his seat, sliding subtly downwards and opening his thighs a little. The wrap of the robe fell open across his chest, just enough to reveal the fine muscles there he knew James found so pleasant.

James cast a quick glance back at him, his gaze flicking briefly to Francis’s swollen groin.

‘You are scandalous,’ he said drawing himself up primly, ‘To make such an inquiry of an innocent girl such as I.’

‘I’ve seen how you appraise me,’ Francis said, ‘Where your touch would linger upon your attendance to my bath. The flush upon those rosy cheeks?’

James swallowed. His Adams apple bobbing above his frilly collar.

‘It is very warm in here,’ Francis commented, ‘Are you quite comfortable?’

‘Quite, though perhaps,’ he raised a hand to his face, ‘A little faint.’

‘My, we cannot have that,’ Francis said now thoroughly enjoying his role as benevolent if rather morally dubious master. ‘Come here at once and be seated.’

‘Upon your lap, sir?’

‘I see no other place,’ he confirmed, pointedly ignoring the two armchairs nearby.

James cast him another sideways glance then tiptoed over. Francis seized him by the waist and dragged him down, dipping his free arm under the backs of his knees and hoisting him into position, sideways on his lap. James clung automatically to his shoulders, the edge of the white pinafore just under Francis’s nose.

‘Lord!’ James cried. Francis dropped a hand to his hip and held him fast. With the other he snaked around to the small of his back.

‘So many layers,’ he commented drawing the strings of the apron free slowly, ‘No wonder you are feeling faint.’ He tugged it loose and pulled the frilly thing clear of James’ head, casting it onto the rug. ‘There now, is that better?’ he asked all concern and kindness.

‘I am still rather…’ James gestured to the ruffles at his throat.

‘Ah of course,’ Francis unlatched the broach and slipped it onto the table by his elbow. ‘Allow me,’ he undid the tight buttons of the bodice and freed the lacy collar, tugging it loose to reveal the hollow of James throat. He watched him swallow, tracing the motion with a fingertip.

‘What beautiful skin you have,’ he murmured, ‘So pale… so soft, why beneath this servants garb lies the body of a well-bred young woman.’

‘Sir!’

He unclasped another small black button, then another.

‘I am quite sure that I can breathe well enough now,’ James said meekly.

‘Is that so?’ Francis trailed his fingers lower through the gap in James’ bodice causing his breath to stutter. ‘You seem to struggle still,’ he said and undid another clasp.

‘Lord if you proceed sir,  I… my honour will be tarnished!’

Francis smiled gently, ‘There is only you and I here, my girl, I will not tell a soul, I promise. I wish only for you to be comfortable.’

James’ hand came to the front of the bodice and quickly undid the last few buttons, ‘Christ that’s better,’ he muttered quite out of role. Francis chuckled. ‘I mean, thank you sir, that is most considerate of you.’

Francis tipped his head back and laughed full at that. James smiled back a little shyly but with a goodly portion of his usually cheer reinstated. He drew Francis’ hand to his back.

‘Would you be so kind sir as to untie these strings, for this skirt pinches so tightly.’

‘Of course, would it be preferable to remove these outer clothes entirely?’

‘I think it would, yes,’ James said as though considering this option.

Francis untied the strings and then before James could move ran his hands up the length of his back, touching the rich fabric of the now open bodice one last time, it swooshed under his fingertips with a satisfying drag and beneath he felt both the bones of corsetry and the flex of James’ muscles. His groin pulsed and James edged closer to him, catching his hardness beneath his thighs.

‘Mmm,’ Francis hummed and push the shoulders of the bodice down.

James’s arms were far too well muscled to allow the garment to slip serenely from his frame. There was a little tugging and laughing until he finally unrolled his tucked up sleeves and had Francis haul upon the ends. Breathless James swore in a most unladylike manner before hopping briefly off Francis’ lap to dump the heavy charcoal coloured silks of his skirt.

‘Jesus, Mary….’ Francis breathed.

James looked down, ‘Ah.’

‘Those are not the undergarments of a maid.’

‘Ah, um … no.’

‘James, where in God’s name did you find them?’

‘I found them in the other wing,’ he said, his cheeks burning, ‘There is um… quite a collection there. Must have belonged to the lady of the house.’

Francis stopped listening. The sight was just too distracting. The ivory corset was laced both front and back and heavily boned. The breasts were padded in quilting and exquisitely detailed with a hatched embroidery in cream. It was clearly made of silk and satin, and finished with lace, two delicate capped sleeves rested just below James’ wide shoulders and the panels of the frontpiece sloped attractively down towards his groin. There his petticoats lay in multiple and sumptuous layers of more detailed lace upon satin, the panels stitched in falling stripes which seemed to float about his legs like cloud. He turned a little so Francis could see behind, the bulk of a small bustle lending a roundness to his posterior that formed a bow within his back so that his spine curved like a swan, upwards o’er the tightly drawn laces to the bare space beneath his neck. Crozier felt himself twitch, the silk of his robe sliding sideways from the force of his arousal.

‘Do you like it?’ James said softly, turning back.

‘I…’ the words stopped in his throat as James moved over him, draping one long leg over his lap and seating himself over his crotch. The edge of the corset now presented itself at his eyeline and though the thing was cinched tightly Francis could still look down upon his chest beneath. James heaved a breath experimentally, and the fullness of his muscle heaved with it. Francis tracked his eyes across the sharp bones of his clavicles, and the manly shape of his shoulders and strength of his arms and tried to reconcile it with the softness now pressed against his stomach and thighs. James rocked against him gently.

‘God above,’ Francis breathed.

‘You were right sir, this feels much better,’ James said slipping the little sleeves further down his biceps. ‘To feel the air upon my chest,’ he dragged the tips of his fingers along the edge of the corset and dipped down slightly, gazing at Francis from beneath hooded lids.

‘Christ you’re…. rather good at this,’ Francis said. James rewarded him with a coquettish smile and licked a thin film of wetness along his lower lip as Crozier watched entranced. He rolled is hips again into Francis’ pelvis.

‘Oh my!’ he said feigning innocence badly, ‘What is this I feel beneath your robes, a swelling?’

Francis raised his eyebrows playfully.

‘Is my poor master unwell? Should I call for a physician, for I must say I do not rightfully know what afflicts him.’

‘For Christs sake James,’ Francis laughed.

‘I have no knowledge of such things, sir, or what might lay within a man’s small clothes…’ he trailed off and looked down, shuffling back a little before parting the robe further between their bodies until Francis sprang from it hard and aching. ‘Oh Lord!’ James said.

Crozier could not determine if he was shaking now from laughter or desire. James winked at him before launching into his next scene.

‘I suppose if I am to be a good servant, I should endeavour to help my poor master,’ he mused, ‘Good heavens what are you doing?’ he asked as Francis rucked up the skirts about his thighs and got a hand underneath them. He did the same on the other side and hauled James firmly over his cock. He was quite bare beneath the skirts, he noticed, and hot, searingly so, his skin damp with sweat. Francis ground him on the spot for a moment until James leaned forward at last, circling his bare arms about his neck. Francis leaned up to kiss him and he dipped away teasingly, evading his lips.

‘Oh sir, you know that I have never been kissed.’

‘Never?’

‘Never,’ James veered away again playfully, and Francis increased his grip upon his buttocks.

‘Well if you are to stay in my employ, that must change and quickly,’ he said as James evaded him again, the tension building between them in the air until Francis’s whole body seemed to ache with the need to feel his tongue within James’ mouth. The man dipped and weaved once more.

‘Hell fire!’ Francis cursed.

‘Make me,’ James whispered.

Francis pulled one hand free from under the skirts and with a lunge grasped James by the very base of his skull and pulled him to. He felt his treacherous lips smile even as he feigned a protest, and open quickly to Francis’s probing tongue. A rush of need surged down him and he jerked his hips against James’s body, grunting as he did so, suddenly desperate to seize the pretty creature in his lap and have his way, but James hands were pulling away his robe, opening him to the press of the silk and bone, grinding into his soft flesh, his thighs tight abut his own. Francis tore from the embrace and with a surge of strength, he rose, one arm about James chest under his shoulders and the other lifting him free, suspended in his arms like a bride. James made a startled and agreeably high pitched sound as Francis strode three paces and flung him down upon the bed.

‘God Lord!’ James scrabbled back amongst he pillows with a look of utter delight upon his face. ‘Christ Francis!’ He lay propped upon his elbows, hair dishevelled, petticoats asunder and the laces of the corset half undone. He reached to loosen them further.

‘Leave it,’ Francis commanded, ‘Want you as you are,’ he shrugged out of the robe completely and crawled quickly on top of James, bunching up the petticoats further as he went until James’ thighs were all but exposed and resting himself between them. He kissed him hard then, angling his hips down until their cocks were trapped together, the feel of silk and satin slipping over his flanks as he rutted, and the boning of the corsetry still crushed into his own ribs.

‘Fuck, James…. I never knew…. This could feel so… _Jesus Christ_.’

James was gasping under him, half from pleasure, half from the ongoing constriction of the garments he wore. His fingers tangled in Crozier’s hair, his lips mapped bruises upon his neck, he was as wanton as any whore Francis had fucked in his younger days, but he was better, he was strong and he was angular, an intoxicating mix of softness curves and hard edges, of scraping stubble and leaking cock beneath a veil of lace.

Francis pulled back briefly and with one strong arm about James’ nipped in waist he flipped him over.

‘Yes, Francis, God… yes…’

He rucked up the petticoats until James fine arse was revealed before him and seized both cheeks within his palm before leaning forward to mouth the flesh. He ran a hand down the binding of the corset and reach the strings, tugging quickly. James gasped in pleasure.

‘Tighter!’

‘Christ you won’t be able to…’

‘Tighter!’ James insisted. Bunching the strings in one fist Crozier pulled and the boning creaked as James’s breath left him, then he dropped the hand beneath the skirts and grasped his prick. James groaned hard and thrust into his palm. ‘Francis, please!’

They had not prepared, but God’s blood he had rarely needed it as badly as he did now and James was on all fours all but begging in a high mewl beneath him. Francis snatched the oil from the cabinet by the bed and dribbled it liberally upon himself and upon his fingers before as slowly as he could muster working James open. The man writhed under his touch, and with a debauched thrust, came backward onto his hand, circling his hips needily. Francis scissored his fingers briefly, dragging them over the spot within and James all but sobbed with desire.

‘ _Francis!_ ’

He withdrew quickly, and with one arm hoisted James to where he wanted him, pushing in deep and long as he trembled in his embrace.

‘Holy Mother of…. Ah…’ James tightened down about him and Francis staggered forward bracing himself on his arms to either side of the ivory corset which enclosed James’ straining body. The material of his skirts rustled as he thrust, the silk against his thighs a tantalising burn of overstimulation to echo the fire that raged now in his pulsing throbbing cock.

 ‘Fuck, James, you’re beautiful, you’re fucking beautiful,’ he babbled, a low repetitive moan coming from James’s throat in response, ‘So pretty, so lovely.’ He sat upright and slipped a hand back under the skirts, grasping James’ cock as before and working it now in time with his thrusts. James bucked into him, his movements frantic.

‘Ah… God… finish me… _finish me_ ,’ he begged.

‘Have you been a good girl?’

‘Yes, God yes!’

‘Do you deserve to come?’

‘Yes, Christ, Francis, _please_ ,’

‘And have I been a good Master?’

‘Yes… ‘

‘Yes, what?’

‘Yes… _sir…._ God… please… I’ve been good, I…’

Francis angled his hips and hit deep within James, thrusting the tip of his cock against that place he knew would send him spiralling, the prick in his hand growing harder with each thrust, the tip leaking, slick beneath his touch, until he felt the first spasms within his pretty little maiden and her back grew bowed and tense.

James went rigid beneath him with a harsh cry and at the same second Francis felt his muscle clamp hard about him, the burn of pleasure full and hard as it tore from his belly. His thighs shook, his grip on James failed and he tipped forward, stiff and trembling, panting his supplications, endearments and curses into the back of the corset James wore, into the hot flesh above, before collapsing heavily atop of him.

It took an age to regain his senses, by which point James had rolled from under him and lay flat on his back staring at the canopy of their four poster bed. He looked thoroughly, astoundingly fucked.

‘Francis?’ he said at last.

‘Hmm’ Crozier stared blearily at the curtains suspended above them.

‘Can I take this off now?’

‘I thought you liked it.’

‘I can’t breathe.’

‘Oh Lord,’ Francis rolled and applied his experienced fingers to the knots of James’s corset, giggling as the man twisted and complained, a sheen of most unladylike sweat upon his upper lip and brow and his hair a bloody fright. When eventually the thing gave way, he sucked in great draughts of air and moped his face with the hem of a petticoat.

‘Better?’ Francis asked conversationally, leaning on his elbows by his side.

‘Much,’ James huffed and then looked across at him. ‘And you are you feeling a little more cared for?’

‘Oh James, you have always cared for me, I was merely… Forgive me, I was not myself today, I can be a selfish bastard.’

‘You raise a fair point though,’ James said resignedly, ‘We do need a housekeeper, it’s all getting a bit out of hand. And we should consider other staff, perhaps a valet and a cook…’ there was so little enthusiasm in his voice that Francis almost chuckled.

‘Bless you James. Let us not think on it now. We shall manage,’ Francis said, ‘For a little while longer at least, we have a perfectly fine housekeeper or maid or cook… or whatever she is.’

James snorted. ‘I was thinking wife,’ he said.

‘Wife?’

‘Well… you’ve deflowered an innocent maiden, the least you can do is the honourable thing. Besides… the dresses are prettier.’

Francis closed his eyes, affectionately, tenderly amused. ‘Wife it is then,’ he agreed.


End file.
